I gasped. “Where’d you get that from?” Looking around, I glanced at the floor. “Where’d it go?”
He threw his head back and laughed, taking off running around the corner and down another aisle. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion as I lifted my hand to confirm it. Yup. Sure enough. A rubber dart stuck out from the middle of my forehead, making me look like an ugly unicorn, but a little thrill ran through me. My parents had been so serious, and with no siblings to play with, I’d spent a lot of time playing alone in my room.
Feeling defiant, I left the dart in place and yelled, “Two can play at this game, you sneaky, pansy-butt coward!”
A mother standing a few feet away from me gasped and covered her son’s ears.
“Whoops.” I grimaced. “Sorry.” But it didn’t stop me from tearing down the aisle, looking for a weapon of any kind.
Spotting Spider Man’s web thingy, I strapped it to my wrist and pretended to sling from aisle to aisle with my arms. God, I felt like a little kid, and I had to admit, it felt great. Rounding the corner, I called out, “You can’t hide forever.”
The man next to me frowned, but I ignored him, not giving a hoot. I was having more fun than I’d had in a very long time, and darn it, I deserved to. I kept walking and searching for my enemy.
Just then, feet pounded in the aisle ahead of me. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a huge grin burst across my face as I reversed directions and cut him off at the other end. “Take that, Evil Villain.” I thrust out my hand and squeezed the trigger, spraying a sticky net of spider web at Dylan’s face.
He ducked, and the web showered a woman sporting the biggest hair I’d ever seen. The woman shrieked and began to rake her inch-long nails through her perfectly coiffed mane.
Dylan barked out a laugh and took off at a run.
“I’m so sorry.” I seemed to be saying that a lot today. I backed out of the aisle and charged after Dylan, only to find him standing arrogantly with his hands behind his back.
“Ha! I’ve got you now.” I aimed the web sprayer right at his head again. “And I’m going to wipe that smug smile right off your cocky face.”
“Confident, remember?” He smiled his crooked smile and looked way too pleased with himself.
“Cocky, confident, what’s the difference?”
“Oh, I think we’ve established there’s a big difference.”
I rolled my eyes. “What-ever. Prepare to lose, villain.”
“Take your best shot, Mac.”
“I’m gonna enjoy this.” I squeezed the trigger with pleasure, but nothing happened. I squeezed again. Still nothing. Out of web spray.
He let out a slow, evil chuckle.
I looked at him, and when he pulled his hands from behind his back, my jaw hit the floor. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wanna bet?” His grin grew enormous. “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he mocked me, then squeezed the trigger of the biggest water gun I’d ever seen.
I dropped my web sprayer, spun around, and bolted. “Eeeek!” I screamed as a blast of water nailed my insecurity. The sneaky devil must’ve filled it from the water fountain. Slapping my hands on my soggy rear end, I veered off out of the line of fire then skidded to a halt and took note of where I was.
The doll aisle? Good going, nitwit. What on earth was I supposed to do with these? An idea popped into my mind, and I grinned. Like I said, I’d spent countless hours playing alone in my room, but what I hadn’t mentioned was I’d had the biggest doll collection in town.
I snatched a doll off the shelf, then raced over to the water fountain and filled her up full. Oh, yeah. This one will do just fine. I peeked around the corner. Sure enough, Dylan walked slowly toward the aisle where I hid. I leaned back so he wouldn’t see me and waited for the perfect moment.
Footsteps sounded closer, closer, closer. One more step, and he’d be mine.
“Gotcha, Diaper Boy!” I slid out of the aisle on my knees and squeezed the doll’s tummy as hard as I could, aiming the stream of water shooting out its bottom straight at the zipper of Diaper Boy’s fly. When I lowered the doll, my smile vanished and the breath whooshed right out of my lungs.
Note to self: Always check the produce first.
The zipper belonged to a pair of short, stocky Dockers, not a pair of long-legged Levi’s. And that was not a zucchini. Peering higher, I took in the Oxford shirt, tie, and manager’s nametag with a loud gulp. I bit my lip and looked up the rest of the way to encounter eyes filled with what could only be called outrage.
“Y-You’re not Dylan,” I squeaked, unable to think of anything else to say.